


thnks fr th brthdy gft

by Vulpix



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Dom!Patrick, Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-hiatus, Smut, Sub!Pete, i suck at tags so i'm just gonna leave it at that, like it should be, with a plot shockingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpix/pseuds/Vulpix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy thought it would be nice to give Patrick a hotel room & a good sub for a late birthday present. Too bad it's his best friend and the guy he's lowkey been in love with for years. </p>
<p>(or Pete's on his knees way too much and Patrick knows it isn't good for his health)</p>
            </blockquote>





	thnks fr th brthdy gft

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as some plotless thing, but then I wrote a lot more than I intended. it's also a sort of early birthday present because apparently I like ruining surprises, so enjoy.

He remembers it as clear as day. Almost like the day he met Joe, or the first actual Fall Out Boy concert, or the day they were signed and Pete and him watched the sun rise on the roof with mimosas because no one would question a teenager with orange juice.

All he was doing was curling up in the back of the bus working on music when his mind started wandering, and of course it wandered to a gentle reminder that he hadn’t gotten laid in seemingly forever. That was a normal occurrence for a 20 year old stuck in a bus with a bunch of other guys. It shouldn’t have been that special. He had glanced at the door, and locked it, settling on the couch with a few nerves in his bones.

In Patrick’s opinion, watching porn in the vicinity of the people you dealt every day with was more than awkward. But he had been desperate, and typed in a random site, browsing quickly. He clicked on something that looked normal, and waited.

He was greeted with two men, and one of them immediately curled his hand around the other’s shoulder and shoved him down onto his knees. It was then he noticed that there were a pair of cuffs curled around the other man’s wrists. Patrick froze. The one with darker hair- the one still standing- cradled the other’s face, speaking to him. Patrick’s headphones were on his head and still plugged in, and the voice he heard was firm.

“Are you going to be good boy for me? Are you going to let me play with that pretty mouth of yours?”

Patrick’s mouth had gone dry by this point, and he didn’t think he had ever gotten this hard this fast.

“Mmm, yes, _please_ sir.”

If Patrick was a few years younger and a little less experienced, he would have came on the spot. He watched the two men slowly escalate from the dark haired man shoving him around to viciously pulling his hair to a fucking riding crop. Patrick never thought a strip of leather attached to a stick could be so fucking hot.

He slid his hand into his jeans and as soon as the smaller man started begging for his release, Patrick came so hard he saw stars behind his eyes and laid still with disgusting underwear and warm limbs.

Yeah, that little video opened up some ideas for him.

He knew Andy was into that sort of thing, and after some prodding, Patrick had found himself with a casual hook up. And that was it. Patrick was surrounded in a world of dominance and submission and kinks and hook ups and aftercare.

His life became centered around the next moment he’d get off, the next moment he had sweet skin beneath him and a person to play as well as he played his guitar. His fingers were deft in the ways of piano and wise to know enough pressure on a throat to cause restriction of air, but not enough to bruise. He could drum until the set busted, and bring down leather across backs and asses and thighs.

The dominant lifestyle, for Patrick, became an addiction.

He suddenly understood why people searched for a high. There was nothing comparable to watching a sub completely vulnerable to his control, giving in and letting his hands break them down and craft them the way he wanted.

And it was nice Andy knew more than him, even though Patrick’s cheeks became a dark shade of red whenever they talked about it. They’d help each other out occasionally. If a sub catered more to the other, there’d be a gentle nudge in the direction.

Andy grinned at him one day in June, and that became another one of those crystal clear memories.

“I have a special sorta late birthday gift for you, Patrick,” he said, handing over a keycard that was different than the one he was initially handed for this hotel night. He raised his brows surprised. Andy looked a little apprehensive. “Listen, I know you’re gonna like it… but be gentle if you don’t.”

It was cryptic, but Patrick shrugged, a little eager. Andy and him got to understand each other pretty well. He doubted he wouldn’t like it. He immediately rushed onto the elevator, hitting the button and tapping his foot impatiently if anyone got on. When he reached his floor, he nearly ran to his room. He adjusted his hoodie, then his hat, and opened the door, shutting it behind him.

Andy had to have spent a lot on this hotel room. There was a little living area, a kitchen, and a nice bedroom. He wandered into the bedroom, and stopped still in his tracks.

Pete was down on his knees, ass resting on the back of his heels. His hands were behind his back, obviously bound by something. He had a silk blindfold covering his eyes, and his head was bowed.

Oh yeah, and he was completely naked and hard.

Patrick had no idea what to do with this. His bassist was sitting in front of him in a delicious position and Patrick almost felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He was waiting for a mouthy joke. For Pete to stand up and pull the blindfold off and say “You were punk’d!” but it wasn’t happening. Instead Pete sat on his knees, waiting like a good boy.

What the fuck was Andy _thinking?_ And since when was Pete into this shit? He walked slowly around Pete as he thought, and realized he was holding an envelope. Patrick paused, then reached down and pulled it from his grasp. Pete’s breath hitched, and Patrick couldn’t help how much that stirred him. He opened the letter, licking his lips, reading Pete’s scrawl.

_“Safeword: Kanye West. Check the box besides the nightstand. Seriously Patrick, don’t over think this. I know what I’m doing. Hard Limits Include: Any animal shit, nipple clamps (even though I didn’t bring any), watersports (Even though Andy said he’d punch me personally if I tried to even joke with that)…”_

Everything was written out, right in front of him and Patrick could feel his body already getting ready. His frame of mind was shifting and Pete was in front of him and it was fucking hot. He walked over to the box mentioned, pulling the cardboard flaps away to a box filled with different toys he didn’t recognize. He put two and two together. This was _Pete’s_.

So, maybe Andy and him weren’t the only two in the band into this sort of thing.

He was fucked. There was no way he could walk out of this room without regretting it or wondering what could have happened. Patrick took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a minute. He walked over, gently undoing the blindfold, kneeling in front of Pete. He paused, staring into those stupid eye lined eyes.  

“Are you sure about this?”

Pete sort of grinned when he realized that Patrick was going for it. “Yes, god yes, Patrick.”

He shifted and the words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop it, firm and with purpose, “What was that?”

Pete looked immediately shocked, but it was followed with a lazy grin. “Yes, _Patrick_.”

Of course Pete would be a little shit in bed. Not that they were in bed, which Patrick didn’t mind right now. He stood, curling his fingers under Pete’s chin. “I’m to be referred to as Sir. I know you already know better.” He paused. “Kanye West, really?”

Pete seriously fucking giggled, but sat up straighter, wiggling his ass, nodding. “That’s my safeword, _sir_.”

That shouldn’t have been so hot, but Patrick knew he was fucked, literally _and_ metaphorically.

Patrick wrapped the blindfold over his eyes again, and made him stand up. He squeezed around his chin, and turned him around. “Walk,” he said simply, forcing Pete to walk over to the bed. He pushed him down, hands deliberate as he spread his legs out. He could feel the final bits of nerves slipping out of his mind. They would probably be revisited late at night when he couldn’t sleep. For now, he was focused on Pete.

He restrained his ankles to the bed, forcing him to lie on his front. Patrick eased his hand over the curve of his ass, giving it a light smack as he eased back in on his thoughts.

“Is this why you were being such an antsy little shit during the show today?” Patrick’s voice was low and smoldering, watching Pete closely. “You were on your god damn _knees_ at one point, Pete. Were you thinking of waiting on your knees for me now, hm?”

Pete whimpered in response, nodding his head. “Y-yes sir.”

“In front of all our fans? Seriously?” Patrick couldn’t help but be a little annoyed, but the idea also thrilled him. Pete being anxious and thinking of Patrick domming him… He bit his lip hard.

Pete nodded, burying his face into the bed. Patrick tugged on the cuffs still around his wrists. “You’re so greedy.” He paused as he dragged his nails up Pete’s back. That earned him a bit of a groan, and Pete shimmied in his spot. He restrained Pete’s arms to the bed, making him completely and utterly venerable. He leaned down and made sure to speak low and even in his ear. “What are you thinking about?”

Pete became a motor Patrick knew he’d have to shut up. “God, I’m thinking about you fucking me and what you look like right now and how much I have to thank Andy and I’m so confused because I didn’t know you were into this but I guess it makes sense because like you are _such_ a fucking little control freak and-“ He took the weight of Patrick’s hand on the back of his neck as meaning enough for him to shut up. Patrick could see Pete craning his head slightly, trying to maybe get a glance of him. His hand came down across Pete’s shoulder, and he made a point to tighten the blindfold.

Pete wasn’t a fan of being left in the dark. He was far too much of an anxious person, and his thoughts raced as the bed shifted under him and it was clear that Patrick wasn’t on it any longer. He wondered if Patrick was chickening out or something, and he was about to call out for him when he felt a harsh slap to his ass. He cried out in partial surprise and partial pain.

Patrick ate up the sight of Pete’s back arching under it, the restraints keeping him in place but Pete fighting it regardless. “Count,” He said, firmly. “You shouldn’t act like that during shows. You know I don’t like it.”

Pete grit out a soft noise, and Patrick’s hand grabbed the spot he just hit. “What was that?”

Because of that, Pete managed a very airy, “Yes. Yes, sir. One.”

Patrick made sure the paddle came down across his ass until Pete was squirming and gasping and moaning under it all. He made it to eleven before Patrick deemed it was enough. He moved back on the bed, gently running his hands across Pete’s reddened ass. He could feel the anxiety starting to bubble up at the fact this was Pete fucking Wentz and the idea that he just paddled his best friend’s ass, and he froze.

Pete made a soft noise, almost able to feel the energy of his best friend.

“Yellow. Hold on. Just, fuck, just give me a second,” Patrick said softly, focusing on his breathing for a minute. Pete was evidently concerned, trying to formulate a response, trying to capture words when Patrick finally let out a breath. “Sorry, I’m good.”

His thumb immediately started pressing to Pete’s hole, who couldn’t help but jut his hips back, concern still stuck in his head. Patrick’s voice was back to the velvet smooth tone, and his touches had a confident edge to them. “I’m going to shift you onto your knees,” he said, for the benefit of both of them. He wasn’t sure if he was showing that he was okay or trying to convince himself that he was okay.

He undid the restraints around his ankles and helped Pete shift up onto his knees, spreading his legs slightly. He hummed lowly to himself, and Pete could feel his skin buzzing along to whatever melody Patrick picked.

He was surprised to feel a sudden buzzing at the head of his dick and he jumped, tugging on the restraints still around his wrists, gasping out and moaning, shocked by the feeling. Patrick gently slid the plug up and down Pete’s cock, letting him squirm and moan to whatever degree he wanted to. Pete sort of wondered for a minute how in the hell Patrick managed to lube it up without him noticing, but then it was pressing to behind his balls and then his ass and _oh_.

“You should see how you look right now,” Patrick murmured, shifting the plug back down to his dick. He pressed a well lubed finger into him, rather slowly, still talking, “You took the paddle so well, even tied to the bed and blindfolded. And your ass is going to be so bruised and it’s so red right now but you’re still taking my fingers so well,” he made sure to add a second, curling them and searching for his prostate, “But don’t you dare come without my permission.”

That made Pete shudder and moan particularly loud, especially as the plug was pressed up against him again. He grit his teeth slightly at the stretch it caused, but Patrick was gentle, letting him adjust at first. Once Patrick was sure he could take it, he started moving it in and out of him, quickly curling his hand around Pete’s dick.

Pete felt like Patrick was playing him as well as an instrument. Each flick of the wrist and each time he pressed the plug in just so, he’d cry out, or want to curl in on himself. He couldn’t though because of the stupid restraints, and he tugged against him until he was moaning and whimpering high pitched, begging over and over, “Please, please let me come, please sir,” among other nonsense. Patrick was quiet though, to the point where Pete wondered if Patrick somehow found some sort of fucking robot to just tear him to fucking shreds.

Of course he was proved wrong when it stopped and Patrick leaned over his ass, the plug resting deep in him. He could feel the fact that Patrick was still fucking clothed, and hard. “Do you want to come?” He asked, low and with a bite to his neck. Pete could have really come to that small movement at that point, but he didn’t have permission, so he just choked out a quiet yes.

Patrick started up pulling and pressing the plug into him and jerking Pete off, and Pete thought he was going to cry, but then he simply said, “Come,” and within moments Pete was hit with the most intense orgasm he had in a _long_ time.

Patrick watched as he slumped into the bed, breathing like he had spent the past hour holding his breath. Pete wasn’t sure if an hour passed or mere seconds passed until he felt the restraints being removed from his wrists. The blindfold was removed and Patrick was cleaning him up, already there with a towel. Pete was… confused, though. Patrick hadn’t gotten off, and wasn’t saying a word. He licked his lips, looking up at him confused. “I’ll be right back,” he said, slipping into the bathroom. He returned with a wet towel, and Pete started falling asleep, easing into the comforter.

He was woken up by Andy who seemed slightly high strung. He fed Pete, who kept shooting him confused glances. Once his ass was tended to, he asked softly, “What… what happened to Patrick?”

Andy just shook his head.

“Please, Andy, talk to me.”

Andy sighed in a way that Pete recognized as a frustrated and “I fucked up” sigh from him. It took him a minute before he did start speaking though.

“He called me up and asked me if I could take care of you. He just said that maybe this wasn’t a good idea and that he needed to get out of the room and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t... It shouldn’t have gone this way and… Fuck, man, just… I’m sorry.”

Pete could feel the guilt seeping into his chest, and he stared at Andy in an astonished fashion. “I should go talk to-“

“Pete,” Andy said firmly, cutting him off, “He needs some time. I sprung this on him and it wasn’t right and… just… he’s never going to hate you, but let him come to you.”

 

 

Patrick wasn’t sure what running out on Pete was supposed to accomplish. What he did know was that it accomplished him stomping back to his actual hotel room, downing a bottle and a half of cheap merlot and a lot of room service. The man who brought it all gave him a raised eyebrow but for once he didn’t care what someone thought because he was a shitty dom and an even shittier friend.

And now Andy was blaming himself. He apologized the moment he walked into the room where Patrick had watched Pete sleep, but it wasn’t Andy. Patrick should have realized this was something he couldn’t handle and stopped it before it started.

He also broke the other half of the bottle of merlot, as that was the only reason he didn’t finish it.

In time, he quickly determined that it was fucking hard to completely avoid a guy you were in a band with. Pete was being… oddly good, though. Normally he’d be harassing Patrick by now, but he seemed to know most of the boundaries and that almost annoyed Patrick more. It was aggravating, especially seeing a fading bruise on his neck and rashes on his wrists.

He was twenty fucking two years old. How the fuck was he supposed to handle all this?

Andy had tried speaking to him multiple times over the rest of the tour, but he disregarded it, quickly swatting it away. His sex life had degraded to late nights alone whenever they got a hotel, and his brain tore itself apart for getting off to images of dark skin and a bruised ass and the high pitched, desperate moans of his best friend.

He was really, _really_ fucked.

It became even more apparent when the band decided to take a night out, and Patrick quickly found his spot at the bar sipping whiskey while Joe harassed him.

“What has gotten into you lately?” He asked, brows perched high. Patrick sipped his drink. He knew Andy put Joe up to this. He knew Andy had probably shared every fucking detail with Joe.

So, he played stupid. “Eh, just not feeling well, y’know. It’s been a long tour.”

Joe made a face. “I don’t know, man…”

He could feel his temper slowly stirring in his stomach, but he just ignored it, watching Andy chat some girls up. Very typical behavior.

“I mean, I’m just worried, you and Pete haven’t been talking at all, and you guys are usually like, attached at the hip and-“

“I know you know what the fuck is going on, Joe, can you please just knock it off?” He snapped, looking over at his guitarist. Joe’s eyes grew at Patrick’s tone, and they both glanced up at the bartender who seemed a little wary of Patrick. He lowered his voice, looking Joe dead in the eye. “It’s just a fucking weird time for me. Pete will get over it. I’ll get over it. We’ll be normal by the next tour.”

Joe stared at him for a minute, and shrugged. “Whatever you say, man, but you guys are getting nowhere right now.” He slipped away, taking his spot by Andy, seeming to instantly fall into a conversation with a girl whose shirt was cut a little too low. At least in Patrick’s opinion.

It wasn’t his fault this was so weird for him. Usually Pete was banging down his fucking door. Usually if he had done something wrong- if either of them had done anything wrong- they’d be at each other’s throats or Pete would be cuddled up next to him and annoying him constantly. Instead Pete had been keeping a wide girth. It was almost like Pete was _avoiding_ him.

It was about then his eyes settled on Pete with one of his stupid fucking hoodies on- somehow getting in the club just on the principal that he was _the_ Pete Wentz- and cuddled up pretty close to some dude with bright eyes and big hands.

Patrick just wanted to punch something.

He shoved the urge down.

Patrick was smarter than that, though. He knew bottling all this up was going to lead to him exploding. He figured the break between the tour and recording would be good enough. He made sure to actually get out there and do a scene with a girl with a pretty smile and slender limbs and soft skin.

Afterward, when he was sure she was asleep, he laid awake with his arm curled around a waist that was too small, thinking about how the moans were too feminine and that she wasn’t defiant enough.

Perhaps it was childish, this whole thing. But Pete was back with Ashlee, and bringing it up was pointless. It wasn’t like it was anything more than a late birthday present. Something nice to give a friend. Like… a really specialized bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates.

But he still had it bottled up, and it finally burst when they were doing some work on their next album.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but Pete was insistent on having a breakdown in the midst of Thanks for the Memories and was really focusing on particular lines being brought out by simply Patrick’s voice.

“Listen,” Pete said, circling the part on the page in front of him, pointing at it with a finger. “The rest of the song is really like, catchy, but this part is important. It’s the fucking meat, man. It’s the sexy part, it’s the relationship, it’s calling out the press and middle fingers to them, it’s, fuck, why can’t you just trust me?”

“I kinda agree with him,” Andy piped up, “He just wants to accent it.”

Patrick wasn’t sure why the particular lines were getting to him, but he shook his head. “No. The start is already stripped to just the strings and the end has a stripped chorus. Why strip it down again? We have chuggy guitars. We don’t need to get sexy with it.”

Joe was just watching, having already given up trying to diffuse the situation.

“They’re my fucking words, I know how they should be received, I wish you’d just trust me for once,” Pete grit out, getting in Patrick’s face a bit.

Patrick laughed bitterly, “Oh yeah, you’re suddenly a fucking genius music maker, I forgot dating Ashlee Simpson gave you a superiority complex!”

“Patrick…” Andy warned, but Patrick was on a roll now.

“You’re just going back and forth again like you always are,” He spat, “Sometimes up sometimes down. I bet you in a month’s time you and Ashlee are going to be moot and you’re going to be fucking some-“

“Excuse me?!” Pete growled out, “You’re the one who’s been holed up in his house for months now all because you got me off _once_ and you’re afraid or so-“

And then Patrick punched him.

Everyone was frozen for a minute as Pete realized what just happened. He reached up and rubbed his cheek, then lunged.

Luckily the two of them only got a minute or two of flailing and badly aimed punches before Andy and Joe and the rest of the studio tore them apart. Patrick stormed out with a shout of, “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care!”

Looking back on it as he drove home, it was a little childish, but Pete had tugged out the wrong fucking thing. Low blows were allowed, especially after what he had said about Pete’s fucking girlfriend, but anything but that fresh wound. He immediately got home and downed the rest of a small bottle of alcohol despite it being only 11 AM.

He found himself watching Ghostbusters on his couch, binge eating some Oreos for the next two hours, interrupted by the sound of someone breaking into his house. He grabbed the closest thing that could be used as a weapon (because yes Patrick, a sturdy book would definitely warn off an intruder) and he started sneaking around his house. He rounded a corner and chucked the book at the figure in his kitchen, only to realize it was Pete with a particularly gnarly black eye forming.

“Woah, woah dude, I know you hate me but hear me out!”

Patrick wasn’t sure if he was relieved to see it was Pete or if he would rather an intruder.

“I uh, you kinda broke into my house,” he said, scratching his neck, then tugging his hat down on his head a little more. “I assumed you were a burglar.”

Pete grinned a little cheekily and Patrick sort of wanted to cringe at the evident extent of the damage he dealt. “So that wasn’t because it was me?”

“Uh, no.” Patrick said, motioning so he’d follow him. He plopped down on his couch, watching as Pete hesitantly settled beside him. They shared a row of Oreos until Pete suddenly spoke up.

“Ashlee and I are having problems,” he admitted softly, and Patrick decided it would probably be a good idea to pause the movie. He bit his lip lightly, looking over at Pete. The black eye made him cringe again.

“I uh, I’m sorry, Pete…” He said softly, not exactly sure of the extent of the apology.

Pete sighed, and rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder, eating another Oreo. “I’m sorry for bringing that up. But shit, dude, it’s like… it’s like you forgot or something. Andy told me not to bother you about it and that you’d come around eventually but it’s been radio silence for months. We’re gonna drop this record and the only writing we’ve done together is in studio and that’s not how it used to be. I want this record to be great and it’s like… how are we gonna if you don’t even look at me?”

Patrick looked down, biting his lip. “I don’t know… I don’t know how to talk about this with you, Pete. I… I didn’t even know you were into this stuff and then you were presenting yourself in a near irresistible way and I kinda just… didn’t think. I didn’t think until I had you on your knees and I paddled your ass and then I just… I got you off and ran. It was stupid but Andy shouldn’t have surprised me like that and he admitted it and why would you want me to do that to you anyways and I just-“

“Slow down, wait,” Pete said, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Patrick huffed. “I’m just some dude. I’m your pudgy vocalist who happens to have a weird kink and-“

“You really need to stop that,” Pete huffed, crossing his arms. “First off, so what if you’re a little pudgy, second off, it’s a weird kink Andy and You and I share. In fact…” Patrick could hear the threesome joke coming and he simply glared. Pete looked sheepish for a minute. “Okay, I won’t go there. But seriously. You read the paper. I know my shit. I pride myself on being a fucking good sub and you didn’t let me do my job.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I got you off. That’s your job. You were pretty good at it.”

Pete looked almost annoyed by the very idea. “I’m supposed to get you off. I’m offended. It seemed easy for you to walk away, Patrick.”

Patrick scoffed. “Easy, right. Because I didn’t guiltily get off to it all in my hotel room afterward.”

Pete took that idea, thinking it over for a moment. “Oh you did?”

Patrick… really didn’t like his tone, especially when Pete was standing over him, invading his personal space, seeming like a happy puppy. “Do you trust me?”

“That’s debatable.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Seriously, do you trust me?”

Patrick shrugged. “I mean, you are my best friend, I guess I do.”

With that, Pete dropped to his knees in front of Patrick and he was feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. He was about to speak and Pete shook his head. “I want this. Please. Fuck anything else. Fuck the band, fuck over thinking, fuck my face.”

Patrick practically choked. “W-what?”

“Fuck my face,” he repeated, without any sort of hesitation, crossing his arms. “I know you wanna. And I wanna get you off.”

Patrick was astounded. He was sure he passed out on the couch or something, maybe, and this was just a dream fueled by tipsy drinking and too many Oreos.

Pete took his silence as a yes and started to palm Patrick through his pants. He looked up at him from under his bangs with a soft, “ _Please_ , sir.”

It had to be illegal or something. This had to be the definition of illegal. Patrick shuddered and leaned his head back. “Pete, you’re a fucking ass.”

Pete’s mouth started pressing to the inside of his thigh. “Is that a yes?” he muttered into his jeans.

“Y-yes, god yes,” He whimpered, looking down at Pete. He sported a massive grin for a minute, and then got to work. He pulled Patrick’s pants off as quickly as possible, almost seeming eager to suck Patrick off. He felt obscene as Pete squeezed him through his boxers.

“Wait.”

Pete groaned, exasperatedly and dramatically, throwing himself back against the coffee table, and leaning against it once he was done having his little fit. “What exactly do you want from me, Patrick?! I’m just trying to get you off and you’re being a little bitch about it!”

Patrick stared him down, waiting until he stopped fucking pouting to breach the subject.

“You’re with Ashlee. And I know you’re all grand gestures of “Fuck the band and fuck everything else” but those things are kinda important to me and I know you. I rather just leave this at the door and stay best friends who don’t do the dirty if we’re under risk of fucking up like, the band and god, your relationship with Ash and…”

Pete stared up at him as he trailed up. He huffed, getting up and walking into his kitchen. Patrick followed closely, frowning. “Pete, talk to me.”

“You, you don’t get it!” he said, turning around, annoyed. “I’m into you, Patrick. I’ve been into you for years. I put myself out there and you got me off and ran and I don’t know how to feel anymore.”

Patrick blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me, I’m into you. Like, totally and utterly. In like the way Disney Princes and Princesses are but way gayer. Epically and completely and I have no chance of you feeling the same way and I get it but just, let me have this and I’ll leave you alone and-“

This ended up being another one of those moments Patrick would remember forever. He threw caution to the wind for once and shoved Pete up against the counter of his kitchen, lips pressing to his bassist’s.

Pete gasped into his mouth and curled his fingers into Patrick’s hair, knocking his hat off and letting him shove him harder against the counter. They were both desperate, breathing and drinking each other in for all the lost time. When Patrick pulled away, Pete tried to pull him back in again with small whimpers, but he gasped out, “Wait.”

“Are you fucking joki-“

“No, listen asshole.” Pete went quiet. “I really want to proclaim my love for you and make out for another few minutes and then get you to blow me but you’re kind of in a relationship.”

Pete groaned, grabbing his phone. “You totally ruin the mood,” he huffed out, pressing his phone to his ear. “Hey Ash. I think we should just call it quits now.” He paused, looking Patrick up and down for a moment, biting his lip, giving him a half smirk. “You were right. I’m totally fucking Patrick.” He hung up, with Patrick turning bright red and confused. Pete shrugged. “She thought we had this long affair going on and apparently she-who-shall-not-be-named also lead her into thinking it.”

“You have a really, really bad taste in women, man.” Patrick appraised, chuckling softly.

Pete snorted. “But a fucking _fabulous_ taste in short guys with sideburns and something against breakdowns.”

Patrick sighed. “Fine. You can have your fucking sexy breakdown.”

Pete grinned, making a point to kiss Patrick again, but then Patrick was reminded of Pete’s earlier idea and he grabbed him by his shoulder, surprising him by shoving him down onto his knees. Pete gasped, but then grinned up at Patrick.

“I should have known you were into this sorta stuff. You’ve got such a temper and you’re so bitch-“

Patrick cut him off, “Knock it off, Pete, before I let you sit here and watch me get myself off.” Pete didn’t look like he minded that idea too much, even though he shut up and watched Patrick closely. “What’s your safe word?” Patrick couldn’t help the amused slight smirk that appeared on his face.

“Ashlee Simpson.”

“Seriously, Pete.”

“Fine. Prince.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, but leaving it at that. His hand slid through Pete’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp. His hand curved down under the stubble that was growing across Pete’s chin, making a mental note to tell him to shave afterward. He exhaled slowly, just getting used to the feeling of Pete being right there, inches from his dick, the very idea that they might have a future and Pete was such a little sub like he thought he was. He was only brought out of his thoughts when he heard Pete say, “You know, I was annoyed when you stopped us these past couple times but you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do uh… Sir?” Pete’s eyes were big and worried.

Patrick couldn’t help but lean down and pull Pete into a much gentler kiss, brushing his thumb over his cheek. He murmured, “Lemme, uh,” He started flushing up, “fuck you properly. We don’t have to do anything kinky or something. We have plenty of time for that.” Pete looked confused, but he gave Patrick a heartwarming smile.

“Patrick wants to maaaake looooove. Should I get some Marvin Gaye playing?” Pete’s voice tried to break into the song, but his crooning was nothing like Patrick’s, and Patrick tried to ignore the fact that he was slightly off key. Patrick stood up, interrupting Pete’s solo by tugging on his hand. He giddily followed him back toward Patrick’s room, brief touches and soft giggles shared between them. Patrick pulled Pete into a kiss that started out loving and innocent. Within moments it shifted, becoming desperate again.

They hardly made it to Patrick’s bed, where Pete tugged of Patrick’s shirt and underwear off almost instantly, forcing Patrick to give his mouth up, roaming over his chest and stomach, biting and nibbling here and there. Patrick ended up making these little whining noises, toes curling and Pete decided just about then that this was a much better idea.

He was shameless, making a show of pulling his shirt and pants off, grinning up at Patrick. “Can I still blow you a little bit?” He asked in the most innocent voice he could muster.

Patrick was quickly just giving into whatever Pete wanted to do. He nodded hard and watched as Pete’s lips wrapped around his dick. He made a loud whining noise, shutting his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t like he dreamed of this happening since he met him years ago now. His eyes opened again to see Pete gazing up at him, bobbing his head slowly. Patrick couldn’t help but groan at the sight, keeping eye contact for a few moments.

His hand balled up in Pete’s hair, hips bucking up and he didn’t want to think about how appealing it was to hear the soft noises Pete was making. Pete pulled away, glancing up with spit slick lips and a slight blush on his cheeks. “Where’s your lube?”

Patrick forgot how to use words and waved toward the bedside table. Pete rifled through it for a moment and made a little triumphant noise when he found the condoms and lube.

“.. Really? You even have like, fancy lube?”

“Okay, I just wanted to fuck you and you’re judging my choices in lube.” Patrick paused. “They were uh, a gift from Andy. He claims like, when he uses them-“

Pete shook his head, interrupting him, “Nope! I do not need to hear about Andy’s weird vegan lube obsession!” Patrick thanked god when he noticed Pete was using the normal stuff, and groaned as he wrapped a lubed hand around his dick. He bit his lip. “Watch me,” Pete said softly, and Patrick sat up, a little confused.

Everything made a little more sense when Pete pressed a finger into himself and Patrick’s jaw nearly fell off. He moaned obscenely as Pete started to stretch himself out, still jerking Patrick off slowly.

Patrick was squirming, shifting up so he was resting against his headboard, watching Pete as he stretched himself out with another two fingers. “God, Pete, please come here.”

Pete grinned up at him in the most loving way and Patrick had a moment where he sort of wanted to hit himself. Him there with that stupid black eye that Patrick had caused, and so evident how much he cared about Patrick… He pulled him into another kiss, even more passionate and sweet than the last.

Patrick was the type of person who courted. Wined and dined and went on a few dates before messing around. Pete had spent the past few years chasing after Patrick with grand gestures and things he thought were stupid jokes and he felt sort of bad, to be completely honest. The black eye probably didn’t help- even if Pete was a dick- but god, he just wanted to say he was sorry in so many different ways and any language he could figure out and…

“I can hear you thinking, Patrick,” Pete said softly, running his hands through his hair. “Usually that’s my job.”

Patrick laughed softly. “This is just weird. I’m just sorry for kind of being a blind asshole.”

Pete grinned a little, ruffling his hair now, and Patrick swatted at his side. “Yeah but you’re my blind asshole. Besides, your prescription isn’t that bad.” He captured Patrick’s lips again, and took one of Patrick’s hands, bringing it down to his dick. He muttered into his skin, “And if you’re so blind, I’m gonna tell you I’m really desperate for your dick right now.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, slowly tracing his fingers over Pete’s cock. He pressed him back, making him get comfortable on his back and spread his legs. “Do you need me to stretch you anymore?” He asked softly, and Pete shook his head hard.

Patrick made sure he used more than enough lube and pressed the tip of his dick into Pete. His jaw fell open for the second time within the hour, and he shut his eyes for a moment. Pete’s face was screwed up, making these little gasps that sounded so musical to Patrick. He made a mental note to write down the melody that was in his brain. He’d probably look at it months down the line and decide he didn’t want to put a melody on the record that he came up with while he was fucking Pete, but it was the thought that counted.

He started thrusting slowly and watched as Pete fell right back into the squirming mess he was months ago. Patrick let out a throaty groan, thanking god that he had actually invested in a home instead of getting an apartment.

“More, more, god, _Patrick._ ” Pete panted out as Patrick started thrusting harder. He felt Pete’s nails digging into his shoulders and he let out a strangled whine, making a point to punctuate his thrusts.

Pete was reduced to various swear words, Patrick’s name and the word “please” over and over again. Patrick had to press his hands to Pete’s shoulders since he was so fucking squirmy and his mouth pressed to his neck. He formed a few bruises up the side of Pete’s neck, reviling in the way his skin bruised so fucking beautifully.

Patrick’s mouth went right to Pete’s ear, and he started softly saying, “You look so good Pete, god, I wanted this so bad, you like this, you’re so desperate for this, so good,” which just drove Pete absolutely fucking nuts.

His hand curled around Pete’s dick and he started to jerk him off in time to his thrusts. Pete would probably swear up, down, left and right that he was glad that Patrick was initially a drummer for his damn _rhythm_.

Pete’s face ended up in a silent scream, small little catches of his breath being the only audible thing as he came, hips pushing up toward Patrick as his legs shook. Patrick thrusted a few last time before he came in Pete’s ass.

He pressed down against Pete, unable to hold himself up against the power of his orgasm.

The room was silent for a moment, just the sounds of their labored breaths while their brains caught up. Pete finally broke it with, “…. You forgot to use a condom.”

Patrick’s response was deadpanned and immediate. “Oh gosh, I really hope you don’t get pregnant.”

“You know, Patrick, there are other reasons why people wear condoms,” Pete said as Patrick shifted, pulling out and going to get up. Pete, on the other hand, had other plans and pulled him down beside him, clinging to him. “Do I have to give you the safe sex talk?”

Patrick groaned. “Pete, really, I don’t want come drying into my sheets, please and thank you.”

Pete shook his head, digging it into Patrick’s back. “I’m safe, I promise. I just got tested for Ashlee.”

“Please do not bring up your girlfriend after… yeah.” Patrick’s face screwed up in disgust.

“ _Ex_ -girlfriend,” Pete corrected, and Patrick wondered for a moment if a voicemail counted as officially breaking up. He wasn’t going to think about that too hard. He imagined Pete’s phone was probably blowing up by now.

Patrick rolled his eyes, turning around and wrapping his arms around Pete. “You’re a jerk.”

“And you love it.”

Patrick wasn’t going to deny that.

The next morning, Pete showed up in the same clothes he was wearing the day prior, whistling happily despite the shiner that was forming.

Andy and Joe were a little tense when Patrick walked in late with a few new bruises on his neck and a few books in hand. “So,” he said, grabbing a guitar, going through one of his books, “If we’re going to have a sexy breakdown in Thanks for the Memories, I think we should have a bit of a different chord progression, just to make it more appealing to the ear, and that way we can sexy it up a little more.”

Joe looked between them for a minute, then shouted, “Oh god, disgusting! No way, no fucking way.”

Patrick smiled slightly, looking up at him, shrugging innocently, “What? You not a fan of the “sexy breakdown” idea?”

“I just don’t want to imagine you and Pete and your guys’ sexy breakdown. Disgusting, no thank you.”

It was safe to say once the record dropped and the newly rebranded “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs” reached number 11 that maybe sometimes Pete and Andy had a couple good ideas.

 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr, @ asoulpunk


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